In Custody Novels & Stories

“When you were released, you were put under my custody. Your movement has to be monitored until we verify the details of your case, or lack thereof.” “If it's just monitoring my movement then there shouldn't be any problem. I’ll give you all the details of every place I will go. I’ve been doing this already,” Ella said. She was distraught at the thought that she still couldn’t go and come as she pleased. “Unfortunately you have to stay within the county. You will be able to resume your normal operations soon. The department of criminal investigations are going to clear up everything as soon as your fingerprints are processed.” “My prints were taken ages ago.”

Now I was being processed like a common criminal. The booking process was humiliating and degrading in ways I had never imagined. They photographed me from every angle, fingerprinted me, strip-searched me, and gave me an orange jumpsuit that smelled like industrial detergent and desperation. "Westbrook, Elena. Inmate 58493," the processing officer announced as he handed me a bag containing basic toiletries and a thin blanket. "You're in protective custody due to the high-profile nature of your case." "What does that mean?" "Solitary confinement for your own safety," he replied. "There are people in general population who have lost family members because of your activities."

Too close. “Ma’am, let’s go.” Her head snapped up. “What?” Her voice was low, cracked, and dangerous. “Go where?” One of the men..a tall, broad-shouldered officer in a federal vest..looked down at her with the polite stiffness of a man trained not to flinch at blood, nudity, or grief. “You’re being placed in protective custody. We need to get you out of the premises.” “Protective custody?” She blinked, unable to process the words. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

She clasped her hands together, her eyes locked with Ryan's, silently urging him to continue. Ryan, still catching his breath, continued, "The facility is known as Citadel Penitentiary. It's a maximum-security prison located deep within the outskirts. It houses some of the most dangerous criminals in the country. Getting access won't be easy, but I assure you, we'll do everything we can to help reunite you with Kristen."

said Old Joe, standing up. My two inmates lined up before the metal rails and I followed their suit reluctantly. One by one officer came into view as the barrier opened up. We walked in silence, in groups of threes with officers in tow, a baton in their hands. We were led in a canter after some time. Inside were prisoners alike me, lined up for food.

It's getting late for you to call, so tell me: what's happening? "I had to give you a call," he says. "I received a call from the police. As a result of the complaint that I filed, they believed it would be helpful to keep you informed. Jen's brothers and her cousin have all been taken into custody. They are currently held in custody, and it is quite unlikely that they will be released for many years; they will remain in detention as they await their sentencing. The police have informed them that they are being investigated for drug and manslaughter allegations. They consider it to be beneficial information for me.

he said softly, “what happens to dangerous anomalies without such guarantees. Accidents. Mishaps. Medical complications in custody.” Rules. Needles. White sheets. My hands curled at my back, shackles biting. “And if I sign,” I said, “what happened to me?” “You are allocated,” he said. “Under controlled conditions. To a vetted custodian. Someone with proven resources and incentive to keep you and the child alive, intact, and monitored. We call it *reallocation.*” “Trafficking in a tie,” I said. “Do I get a fruit basket, or just a collar?”

"He needs to be restrained." "He is protecting his mate. Any wolf would do the same. Nate, I need you to shift back. I promise no one is going to hurt Dora." "They are trying to lock her up." "Protective custody. Not imprisonment. There is a difference." "Not from where I am standing."

“It is not connected to the primary facility. There are no medical records stored here. No clinical equipment. No holding rooms.” “Why does it exist?” Lila asked. Bennett looked at her. “For situations where someone needs protection without feeling like they have been placed in custody.” Lila’s mouth tightened. “That sounds like something someone says right before they place you in custody.” Jaxon looked down briefly. It was almost a smile. Not because anything was funny. Because Lila had said exactly what he would have said if he were seventeen, terrified and unwilling to let anyone dress control up as safety. Bennett did not r

Is what I hear next followed by the mumbling of conversations amongst the men. Eventually, it sounds as though they've all taken their seats and are now being passed out papers. "These here, gentlemen, are the numbers of girls we have in current custody," I hear Andrei announce followed by the ruffling of sheets and "hmms" from the other men in the room. Girls? Do they mean the maids? "Currently, they are being held in the fifth warehouse, also known as the safe house." What the hell is he talking about?! I thought we all lived here in the house..